


Don’t Look Away

by cptsdstars



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: F/F, F/M, No Spoilers, Polyamory, Pre-Canon, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 15:52:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17552603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cptsdstars/pseuds/cptsdstars
Summary: If Abigail would’ve known what was going to come before the three of them, she never would’ve hesitated. Years of tiptoeing around feelings and refusing to talk about the obvious were surrounded by hurt and fear and arguments that stole the wind and fight out of Abigail’s lungs and crushed it in the dirt.She would believe Arthur and John were dead twelve times over before ever getting to tell them both of her love.





	Don’t Look Away

**Author's Note:**

> I’d like to think they were all happy before John fucked it up. It’s fine though, I love my disaster son.

Even before it was the three of them it was always going to be the three of them. Abigail knew that. 

She fell head over heels for John, regrettably so. But she had stepped into his world, him and his horribly kept secret of his desire for Arthur.

Abigail never blamed him. Her own heart held a special place for Arthur. She fooled around with him too; supposes she loves him a little as well. So she really doesn’t mind when John all too obviously sneaks out of camp behind Arthur some nights. 

She wouldn’t deny she thought long and hard about telling Arthur the baby in her womb was his. It almost was her reality, but when she brought the idea up to Hosea he had turned white, told her it couldn’t and shouldn’t be his. 

Abigail hadn’t questioned it. 

*

John was sitting with his head resting on Abigail’s shoulder, staring quietly into the fire. The chill of night had creeped in on the edges of their circle but the warmth kept them close. John sat rubbing little circles with his thumb on her dress. Arthur sat across from them humming quietly, nose buried in his journal. 

“We should get married,” John mutters.

Abigail responds with nothing more than a laugh. Arthur looks up at them, his face soft. 

“M’serious,” he mutters, rolling his head against her shoulder. “It’s the least I can do, if I did even… you know… If that’s my kid.”

“I didn’t think you cared,” Abigail says, turning her head a little to look down at him. 

“I didn’t think so either, but I’ve been thinking about it.” He doesn’t look at her, just into the soft orange light of the fire. 

“Sure,” Abigail laughs. “If you want to, we’ll get married.” 

She looks back across the fire at Arthur, who quickly tucks his nose back into his journal, but not before Abigail caught the smile on his face. 

So they do get married, in a way. 

It was really more of an excuse for the boys to throw a party. It wasn’t an official ceremony or anything. Reverend Swanson hardly counts as a real priest. 

Earlier in the day, Arthur had sheepishly offered to take her into the nearby town so she could buy a white dress. They couldn’t find any, so she picked out a wonderful yellow one that fit around her slightly swollen tummy nicely. Arthur had blushed and stumbled his way through a compliment and then paid for the dress himself. 

Then when she had come back into camp, John greeted her with slicked back hair and a clean set of clothes and they kissed like a real couple in front of a dozen outlaws who whooped and hollered in response. 

Now, Javier plays a fast-paced song on his guitar around the campfire and Karen pulls Davey up to dance with her, much to the amusement of the rest of the camp. 

“Mrs. Marston?” John says, holding out his hand to her. 

He smells strongly of whiskey and he's wobbling on his feet but Abigail smiles and takes _her husband’s_ hand. 

Dutch starts to cheer and the rest of the camp joins in as John grabs her hand with one of his and his other hand rests a little too low to be proper on her waist. 

He begins to sway them, barely moving his two left feet and Abigail grins wildly. Warmth fills her veins as he steers her around in a circle around the firelight. 

She catches blurred glimpses of the Van der Linde gang as John spins her faster and faster to the time of the music. Mrs. Grimshaw looks as though she’s about to cry, Dutch’s grin stretches from ear to ear and Arthur… 

Arthur’s soft eyes are filled with so much love it almost stops Abigail in her tracks. 

John doesn’t stop though, he just keeps spinning them around and around and he laughs with his whole body as Abigail squeezes him tighter to hold on. She laughs too, she feels so light, so happy she feels like she might float away if she lets go of John. 

“I love you!” she laughs, and John’s toothy grin makes him look like a lovesick child. 

“I love _you_!” he says, giving her waist a gentle squeeze. 

*

If Abigail would’ve known what was going to come before the three of them, she never would’ve hesitated. Years of tiptoeing around feelings and refusing to talk about the obvious were surrounded by hurt and fear and arguments that stole the wind and fight out of Abigail’s lungs and crushed it in the dirt. 

She would believe Arthur and John were dead twelve times over before ever getting to tell them both of her love. 

She’d have to watch her whole life fall apart before her eyes before ever getting to sleep in a bed between her boys for the first time. 

John had told her about Annabelle. How he would sometimes see Dutch kiss her and then Hosea in the same day. It was never weird to him because Annabelle had told him that she and Dutch both loved Hosea lots, and that wasn’t bad. 

Abigail would realize almost too late that that was John’s way of suggesting his dream for their future. 

*

It must have been four in the morning by the time the Van der Linde gang had calmed down enough to actually go to sleep for what little was left of the night. 

Abigail was exhausted. John was drop dead drunk. 

So was Arthur, to be fair. 

He hung off of John like a bad scarf. Arm around his shoulder and giggling like a toddler, stumbling at every step as Abigail tried to lure both of them to bed. 

She manages to pull them into her and John’s shared tent and as soon as the canvas flaps closed behind them, Arthur stumbles and falls to the ground, dragging John with him. They erupt into laughter in their pile on the floor and Abigail rolls her eyes. 

“You two are ridiculous,” she says. 

John rolls onto his back to look up at her and smiles. “You love me.”

“Unfortunately,” Abigail replies.

“I ah— should probably go to m’tent,” Arthur mumbles, pressing his cheek against the cold ground. 

Abigail folds her arms. “Arthur Morgan, you will do no such thing.”

He rolls over to look at her, squints up at her in the dark. “Why?” he says like a child. 

“You’re going to take three steps out of this tent and pass out and choke on your own tongue.” John snorts at that. “No one is going to die on my wedding night, Morgan.”

Arthur nods, Abigail is very proud of herself. 

John stands himself up then, wobbling a little bit. Abigail busies herself with finding Arthur a spare bedroll. She doesn’t get very far before John is pressing himself up against her back and kissing her neck gently. 

“One more wedding tradition and then we can sleep,” John breathes against her neck. 

Abigail laughs, picks up the extra bedroll from the ground and intentionally pushes back into John who lets out a shaky breath, “John, please,” she says, “we have a guest.” She tosses the bedroll at Arthur and it hits him in the chest with a thump. 

John’s hands run from her hips and down her thighs. “Come on, Roberts. It ain’t nothing he hasn’t seen before,” he says. 

“It’s Marston!” Arthur pipes up, spreading out his bedroll on the ground next to their cot. “You’re the fool who married her. Her name is Marston now. Same as yours. Idiot.” 

“I suppose you’re right,” Abigail smiles. “Arthur, do you care?”

Arthur blinks slowly. “I don’t know what y’all are talking about.” 

Abigail turns around, kisses John deeply. She drags her tongue across whiskey and fire smoke and her _husband_. Her hands wander up, cupping John’s face and pulling him closer, desperate not to lose the warmth spreading beneath her bones. 

She hears Arthur chuckle somewhere on the ground, but her heartbeat drowns it out. John grabs her hips and pulls her closer to the small cot, past Arthur who’s now staring at them with his mouth agape. 

To drunk to realize what he’s witnessing but sober enough to not want to look away. 

John wastes no time. As soon as her legs hit the cot he’s hiking up her brand new dress, pushing her down flat on the cot, and kissing every little inch of skin he can find. Abigail lets out a quiet little moan. 

His hands wander up, cup her breasts through the soft cloth as he kisses her swollen tummy gently, Drunkenly smiling between each gentle press of his lips. Abigail feels the warmth in her bones spread to her heart. 

*

John would leave her. He would leave her and she would have no idea it was coming. 

She had no idea she’d spend weeks shut up in his tent with tiny Jack with everything around her reminding her painfully of him. 

No one would be able to help her except for Arthur. 

She would almost forget about John. 

Arthur would hold her night after night while she cried, cursing God and the world and Dutch and _John_. He would hold her and let her scream the same way he would hold Jack while he screamed. 

He would hold her while she screamed at John, a year later when he drunkenly strutted back into camp like he’d only been gone an hour. 

*

“I- I should go,” Arthur says, standing up too quickly, blinking as his vision goes blurry. 

Abigail’s hand lets go of John’s hair without her telling it to and she grabs a hold of Arthur’s wrist. 

“Please,” she says. She feels drunk too. “Don’t go.”

Arthur’s face loosens, looks down at her and her breasts and the way John is settled between her thighs, licking like he can’t even hear them talking. Arthur looks terrified, like this is something he shouldn’t be seeing, shouldn’t be doing. 

Abigail tightens the grip she has on Arthur’s wrist as a wave of pleasure rolls through her body and she moans. Arthur’s breath turns ragged and Abigail grins up at him.

With pleasure shaking through her body with every swipe of John’s tongue, Abigail takes her hand and moves Arthur’s to his crotch. Arthur lets out a soft moan when his hand presses up against it, and John finally takes a break to look up at Arthur. 

Arthur, looks at him, the fear he feels apparent in his eyes. Abigail gives his wrist a reassuring squeeze. 

John smiles up at him, that drunken toothy smile. 

“Go for it, cowboy.” John laughs, and Arthur relaxes. 

John then goes right back to what he was doing, surprising Abigail as he dives right back in to licking her clit. Abigail can’t help the moan that escapes her lips and her hand lets go of Arthur to grab at John’s hair again. 

Arthur swiftly shoves his jeans around his ankles and sits back down on the bedroll, eyes fixed on John and Abigail. He watches the way Abigail gently pulls at John’s hair and he watches the way John softly ruts against the side of the cot as he buries his mouth in Abigail. 

Abigail turns her head to watch Arthur, hand stroking his cock in time with the way John is moving his hips. 

Arthur moans, and Abigail suddenly, blindingly realizes, _this is what she wants for the rest of her life._

*

Of course, in the morning, neither of them remember. 

In fact, the first words out of John’s mouth are, “Has Arthur been here all night?” 

Arthur responds with a painful groan, hands flying up to cover his eyes against the midday sun coming through the flaps of the tent. 

“I wanna die,” he says, and John laughs. 

Abigail kisses John softly before getting up and kissing Arthur’s forehead. 

“I’ll get some coffee,” she says, her heart warm.


End file.
